Lilian Potter
by FunCube
Summary: Hi, my name is Lilian Potter, I am eleven years old, and I am an only-child. People do not get tired of telling me that I'm looking just like my mother when she was young. Except the eyes, of course.


_**A/N** : I don't know where this comes from. Nor do I know what it means. All I know is that I had to write it. Enjoy!?_

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Lilian Potter

Hi, my name is Lilian Potter, I am eleven years old, and I am an only-child. People do not get tired of telling me that I'm looking just like my mother when she was young. Except the eyes, of course. The eyes are those of my father. Just like he has those of his father. A deep emerald green.

I have to say, that I am rather happy with that distribution. The eyes are some kind of Potter-thing, so I couldn't really avoid them anyway, but you only have to glance once at my mother to know why I'm content with inheriting my looks from her. Sure, right now, my hair is all bushy and does what it wants, but if nothing unexpected happens it will straighten out and form the beautiful, chocolate brown waves and locks that everyone compliments my mother for. And even if it's not perfect right now, it's nothing compared to the unruly hair my father still has.

You might wonder why I'm talking so much about my parents, even now, as I am standing here in the line, waiting to be sorted and join the house I will spend my next seven years in. Yeah, well, that's no wonder when you are the only child of the two most prominent wizards in Britain, maybe the world even. Harry Potter, the vanquisher of Voldemort, and Hermione Granger, the brain behind the whole vanquishing business. My parents are famous beyond imagination for what they did over twelve years ago in the last War, and it doesn't help that they, for all intents and purposes, are the government of magical Britain. Wait, that's not true. Technically, my mother alone is the government of magical Britain. Yeah, sure, my father is the Minister of Magic, but everyone knows that he was more or less pushed into the position and that he pretty much does what his wife says. He is, without a doubt, a strong and sometimes scary man, but when it comes to his Hermione he simply can't deny her anything. Which is probably a good thing. That woman has the brain of ten people combined and it's not an unknown fact that he — flattly said — would be dead if not for her constant nagging and persuasion to not do things his way. It's something many people are furious about, but I'm certainly not. Why would I? I have inherited her brain.

Anyhow, they are very influential in the wizarding world. Especially since their political enemies have started to die in rather mysterious ways lately. It started with the Notts. Pretty much the whole family died when they drank poisonous wine from their own cellar on a family meeting. It had stayed unknown for quite some time how the poison had been injected into the bottles of rare and comparatively expensive wine. In the end, magic had not been used at all, which was kinda a relieve because that meant the protection spells against poisoning curses had not failed. That would have had a rather severe impact to our understanding of magical defenses. No, nothing fancy had been used, but a simple syringe injection between cork and bottleneck. That this little _accident_ prevented the Werewolf-Equalization-Bill from elimination in the Wizengamot, was interestingly not mentioned by anyone at the time.

When Draco Malfoy died two years later, however, people began to see connections. Again a Muggle method had been used: a blocked chimney in Malfoy's bedroom had hindered the produced carbon monoxide from escaping. The very poisonous and odourless gas had killed the man in his sleep and ended with the same breath the Freeelf-Rename-And-Rehire-Act, that was proposed yearly by the darker elements of the Wizengamot and which had been a constant thorn in the side of my parents. Because Malfoy had been the most fierce opponent of my parents, naturally all eyes turned to them. And then it clicked. Harry and Hermione were the only members who had lived a part of their lives in the Muggle world and incidentally we had visited their manors only shortly prior to their respective deaths. I can especially remember the party the Notts threw. It had been rather boring.

When I look now at my parents, as they are sitting at the Hogwarts teacher table, I can finally understand why some people might suspect them. These sickening smiles have to hide something.

To see them sitting there was a little shocking for me, I have to admit. I presume they used their partial teacher positions to argue that they deserved to sit on the head table, even if they teach only one week a year. There I thought I would finally escape them. But here they are. Again.

Oh please, it's not that I dislike my parents. Not really, at least. But sometimes I can't stand them either. I don't understand how my mother has delivered me in the first place. Between two Wizengamot-sessions or right there while giving a speech? In any case, she certainly did both deliveries flawlessly. Like she always does. I have asked around, of course, but not even uncle Ron wanted to give anything away and he is normally the first one to talk. My father only looks horrified and changes the topic when I bring up my birth.

One thing is clear, though: I spent most of my early childhood with the Weasley kids. My parents say, they wanted me to grow up with other children, but I have the distinct feeling that it was because of work. It's always because of work with the two. That it didn't hurt my development still baffles me. You know the saying that you are the average of the five people you spent the most time with? Well, I am the counterevidence. I don't want to rant about them, though. They are nice people, even if they inherited maybe a little bit too much from their father Ron. At least he spends time with his children.

Admittedly, that changed with my parents too. People tell the story like so: when I was four or five my mother was asked by a reporter of the Daily Prophet how much time she spends with her daughter — me — and what mother-daughter activities we do. Apparently she never answered the question but instead broke down in tears right there and then. You see, Hermione Granger is the epitome of a perfectionist and she normally really knows and does everything better than everybody else. That's why when you criticize her, she will routinely outsmart and get back at you. That reporter, however, did obviously hit a nerve with her. It could have ended there, but the good-natured man continued with what some people call the most unfortunate solace of the 21st century. "You can't split yourself!" he said. Oh, that fool. Try the smartest witch of this age! The end of the story was that my mother tried to make clones of herself. I'm not exactly sure why she didn't succeeded on her own, but in the end she needed some kind of power only the vanquisher of Voldemort had. Lucky for her and to the despair of us common folks, that is her husband. I can still remember them fighting about the use of some wand. My father opposed the idea vehemently at first. But, of course, he couldn't hold his ground. After a few weeks of fighting, they apparently made some sort of deal, because — like always — she got what she wanted. Since then, between three and six Hermione Grangers grace this world to the annoyance of everyone else. It's not too unsettling because they are never in the same room at the same time. Only once a month will they meet up at our house in the evening. I'm not sure what they are doing in the night. Maybe my father has to refresh the magic that's binding the clones to this realm, but I don't understand why he is always so exhausted in the next morning and babbling about the greatest deal he has ever made.

Anyway, since then my mother had _suddenly_ time for me. Which meant: education. I don't know if she had planned to drive out the passion for learning (you know, so I can't take her title of smartest witch from her. She doesn't show it, but she is very competitive) or if I never had it in the first place. Bottom line is: I don't like learning. Not that I'm not good at it. Of course, I am. Especially physics and chemistry! But I just don't enjoy it that much. I have other, more delicate hobbies. And I have ambitions! Bigger even than the expectations in me. What? You didn't think people have expectations in me? Look at my parents! It's like with my father. People don't know me but because of something my parents have done, they think I am destined to repeat it. There is only one difference: in contrast to him, I don't fear the expectations! Do I look like a coward, or what? No, I'll finish Hogwarts and then I will embrace my heritage and build upon the work of my parents. But I'm not going to slave away only to give all my achievements to some thankless democracy. I will rule over the wizarding world!

But first I need to bring that sorting ceremony behind me! It can't be much longer as a Parkinson is currently sitting on the chair. I have to admit that he looks quite cute with his long hair and the too big hat on his head. Not that I would feel anything for boys at my age. Moreover, he will be a political enemy one day — if he survives till then, that is. Drug addiction can be quite damaging when started young and accidents happen all the time. Even in Hogwarts.

Ah, Slytherin! How unexpected. Now, it's finally my turn! I'm pretty curious where this hat will put me. I have spent many hours thinking about into which house I want to be sorted, but I'm still not sure. My parents want to see me in Gryffindor, of course, but I'm not confident that that will help me with my future goals. Hufflepuff is no option either. That house is a joke! So it's between Ravenclaw and Slytherin then. This one time I will let the hat decide. Admittedly, giving this decision away to chance makes me feel quite giggly. I don't do that under normal circumstances. Though, I would appreciate the frozen expression on the faces of my parents when I'm getting sorted into Slytherin. Ha, that would make headlines: "Gryffindor's child is a snake!" or "Red plus red equals green."

The hat is now hovering above me, now. Can't wait to talk to it! Irg, that leather really feels old. Don't wanna know how many children's cold sweat is currently touching my hair.

What? It didn't even said a word to me! What did it shout? Ah, nice, it repeats itself. "Murder!?"

Oh. Well. Shit. Should have known that he looks into my mind.

I turn around to see my parents and, you won't believe it, for the first time in my live I see Hermione and Harry Potter speechless. Hmm didn't go the way I expected: I feel nothing.

Ok guys. I have to end this here. I have important things to do. Like discrediting a particular old and certainly senil hat. You know, I'm a Potter too. It's always work with the three of us. See ya!


End file.
